


once had a grip on everything

by redbrickrose



Category: Faking It (TV 2014)
Genre: F/F, Future Fic, Misses Clause Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 08:53:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2806745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redbrickrose/pseuds/redbrickrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Kissing Callie was easy, and fun. She remembers feeling mostly warmth and amused affection, and there wasn’t a single moment of being shot through with something that left her stunned and breathless, not a single touch that lit her up from the inside. There’s no part of her that aches now to do it again.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>  <em>So it wasn’t actually anything like what she remembers kissing her best friend being like, at all.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	once had a grip on everything

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LilyC](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyC/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide! I had a lot of fun writing this fic, and I hope you enjoy it.

Karma wakes up to the shriek of Callie’s phone, followed immediately by Callie’s knee catching her across the ribs as Callie clambers over her, flailing blindly for the phone and taking a full glass of water off her bedside table in the process. The shrieking stops, and Callie slumps back down on the pillow next to Karma’s head, so that when Karma turns away, trying to hide her face from the sunlight streaming through the dorm room window, her hair is caught under Callie’s shoulder and the tight, sharp tug against her scalp just intensifies the headache right behind her eyes.

The shrieking starts again. It’s a literal shrieking too, this high-pitched, horror movie scream that Callie’s phone makes whenever her parents call. 

Karma might be dying.

Callie’s naked; Karma can feel every inch of her, pressed hangover hot against Karma’s side because Karma is also naked and sure, that is a thing that happened. She doesn’t feel much about it; she doesn’t feel much at all beyond nauseous and sticky, and the distant, hazy awareness that she ought to feel more.

Whatever. College is _for_ experimentation, right? She clearly remembers Callie making that point eight hours and a bottle of vodka ago, right before Karma kissed her.

The shrieking is still happening. Callie moans in her ear before she rolls over Karma again, her weight over Karma’s chest and the heel of her right hand digging hard into Karma’s shoulder. She fumbles the phone off its charger with her other hand, and tosses it across the room. The shrieking stops, at least.

“That’s probably broken,” Karma says, shutting her eyes tight against the light and shifting a little under Callie’s weight, aware, aware, _aware_ of the crush of her breasts, the _heat_ of her. 

Callie shrugs and drops her forehead onto Karma’s shoulder. She mumbles, “They’ll be here in a few hours anyway.”

Karma swallows hard. Her flight is in a few hours too. And then back to Texas for three whole months.

Okay. She can do this.

***

It takes them another hour to drag themselves out of Callie’s bed, and Karma’s still woozy, shaky when she sits up too fast or thinks about food. It’s not quite the worst hangover she’s ever had; that dubious honor is still held by her first and only frat party (also an experience she felt like she ought to have, also Callie’s fault) but it’s probably top three. 

“Not a BAD way to wrap up freshman year,” Callie says, but there’s a question in her voice under the bravado. She’s sitting cross-legged on her bed in the middle of their mostly-packed dorm room, brushing the knots out of her hair. Karma, who gave up packing in favor of lying face down on her own bed and praying for death, makes a noise she hopes is reassuring, shifting to turn her face to Callie, squinting into the light. 

“So,” Callie says, soft and a little unsure. She slides off the bed and takes the few steps to Karma’s side of the room. Karma shifts over against the wall and pushes herself up onto one elbow so that Callie can sit beside her, hesitating a second like she wants to reach out before nervously running her fingers through her own hair. “Hey. K, are you alright? Don’t freak out on me, please. Let’s talk. I know I’m the first since...”

Karma winces and cuts her off, shaking her head and forcing a smile. “No, no, sorry I’m fine. Hey, we’re good. It’s just my head. And my stomach. And my entire body.” Pause. “What about you?” She hates the twinge of hesitation in her voice, but she’s sober and awake now, and the anxiety is creeping in, the fear that there’s something huge she missed. 

Callie wrinkles her nose, and does reach out now, tapping her fingers lightly against Karma’s shoulder. “I feel like death, and I don’t know what I’m going to tell my mom if I look half as bad as I feel. But hey, I’m fine. At least freshman year went out with a bang.” She smirks down at Karma, and Karma rolls over, groaning at the pun, and pulling her pillow up over her face to shut out the too-bright, hangover morning. 

The thing is, though, if Callie is fine, then Karma is fine. She doesn’t really feel awkward at all. Kissing Callie was easy, and fun. The rest of it was fun too, what little they’d managed through their drunken giggling. She remembers feeling mostly warmth and amused affection, and there wasn’t a single moment of being shot through with something that left her stunned and breathless, not a single touch that lit her up from the inside. There’s no part of her that aches now to do it again.

So it wasn’t actually anything like what she remembers kissing her best friend being like, at all.

***  
Karma met Calliope on the NYU incoming student Facebook group after they were matched as roommates, well before they ever met in person. She was taken by her immediately, the cool sophistication and her easy knowledge of New York, which Karma wanted so, so badly by then.

“She’s cute,” Amy said, leaning over Karma’s shoulder, laughing a little and twisting away when Karma pinched her in the side. “No, but really. She seems cool. I hope you get along like you think you will.” She paused, then added, “Then you can introduce me.” Karma made face, and Amy wagged her eyebrows exaggeratedly; she was easy and playful, no jealousy at all in her voice. 

Karma would have known; she was still so vigilant even two years later, watching for signs of discontent.

“She _is_ your type,” Karma said, and _oh_ Callie was. Dark-eyed, dark-haired musician, her dry sense of humor and her curves plastered across her Facebook profile, like Reagan, then Sarah, then Michelle, then Reagan again.

Amy just shook her head and pushed at Karma’s shoulder. Amy and Reagan were back together then, determined to try the long-distance thing, with Amy up at Austin College. She was happy. 

Karma could tell.

***  
She has this story she tells about high school. The narrative of Karma and Amy, sketching a framework for how complicated their relationship got and how they spent two years aggressively uncomplicating it. “We were weird about each other,” she says, like the admission it’s come to be, always with wry self-awareness and a bit of a laugh, shrugging and dropping her eyes. “She’s still my best friend; we’re stronger, after everything we went through. We’re indestructible.”

It’s her go-to description when anyone asks her about friends from home. She wrote a song about it for open mic night, and it’s even what she told Callie, in the dark of their dorm room in late-night, raw-nerved whispered confessionals.

It all happened. They pretended to be a couple for popularity.They had complicated feelings about each other. They lost their virginities to the same boy, who Karma went on to date until after graduation while Amy went on to date Reagan the DJ. They all had an understanding. Nobody ever really felt the need to talk about sophomore year much.

It all happened, but it’s not all true. It’s not NOT true, either, but there are thing she elides and things she leaves out, and implications she lets slip in. 

“So are you bi, then?” Callie straight-up asked, the night Karma told her about the almost-threesome.

“I don’t like labels,” Karma said, practicing how that sounded, actually said out loud. 

It all happened, but it’s probably not how Amy would remember it.

***

Karma meets Liam at his dorm room later, so they can share a cab to the airport. They’re finally speaking again. She’s glad. 

Sometimes you make this elaborate, romantic plan to go to the same college as your boyfriend, all the way across the country. Then you break up a month before you leave, because the future is suddenly too big and too real and when you say forever it suddenly feels less like potential and comfort, and more like the walls closing in.

It’s been nearly a year, now, and they have some equilibrium. He can look her in the eye, and she can have a conversation with him without the guilt choking her.

Dalia’s leaving as she arrives; they make eye contact and Karma manages to smile back when Dalia smiles at her. Dalia and Liam have been dating at least as long as Karma and Liam have been speaking again; Liam says she’s the first girl since Karma who has meant anything, and Karma suspects she’s part of why Liam’s okay with talking to Karma again, so she tries not to resent her, an echo of old jealousy she has to shove aside.

Dalia’s charming and rich and very, very beautiful. She’s also a vegan socialist who Liam met at a protest about factory farming. She reminds Karma of Soleil, and Liam’s father would loathe her. Good for Liam.

“Karma, hey,” Liam says when she sticks her head through the door to ask if he’s ready to go. It’s the way he’s always said her name; like he’s a little bit stunned and awed by her, though there’s an added wariness because of how tentative they are with each other now. It always floored her in high school, and it still makes her feel a little warm in her chest.

She swings her bag to the floor, and leans into his doorway, raising her eyebrows. “You ready for this?”

He grimaces. “As I’ll ever be.”

***  
Her parents pick her up at the airport, all smiles and exuberance, and she lets herself fall into the easy lull of their conversation about the juice truck, and the new couch they bought that meant they had to rearrange the living room completely for better feng shui, and Zen’s new girlfriend, who they suspect might be a Republican from things he’s said, but they love him anyway, even if they don’t agree with his choices. 

Austin flows by outside the window, a hum of jarring familiarity, like she never left, even though she’s been gone nearly a year. 

Her parents have rearranged most of the house; there’s a lot of new furniture and what’s the same is in radically different places. “It’s an empty nest thing,” Zen said, the last time they talked. Her mom said it was about catharsis and letting go, an acceptance of change and new stages in life. So an empty nest thing, then.

Seeing the rearranged house is a little surreal, but nowhere near as surreal as seeing her own room left untouched. Her mom comes up behind her when she stops in the doorway and squeezes her shoulders. She hooks her chin over Karma’s shoulder, and Karma can smell patchouli.

“We didn’t want to make any changes without asking you,” her mom says. “We’ve all moved on to the next adventure, but that doesn’t mean you don’t always have a place here.”

“I know, Mom,” Karma says, and her voice catches in the back of her throat.

***  
The night before Karma left for New York, she and Amy ate a half gallon each of Rocky Road and then hate-watched the entire _50 Shades of Grey_ trilogy to celebrate the recent release of _50 Shades Freed_.

Lying on Karma’s bed afterward, in the dark, Amy said, “Let’s make a pact to only watch those movies with each other.”

“A 50 Shades of Grey...contract?” Karma asked, giggling, and flinching away when Amy leaned in to tickle her. “Ah, ah, I’m sorry, stop.”

“Well, no one else fully appreciates how awesomely bad they are.”

“They are an awesome and horrible thing, it’s true. Alright, fine. It’ll be our thing; and when we’re home at Christmas, we’ll do _Twilight_ then _50 Shades_ straight through. Get excited!”

Amy dropped her head against Karma’s shoulder, her whole body shaking with laughter, but when she looked up, her eyes were shining.

“I’m gonna miss you so much,” she said.

“Me too,” Karma said, shakily around the knot in her throat.

“What were we thinking going to college so far apart?” Amy buried her face against Karma shoulder again, and Karma reached up threading her fingers through the hair at the base of Amy’s neck.

“We were thinking we’re going to be friends forever, so what’s four years?”

Amy sighed and nodded, digging her fingers into Karma’s hip, and Karma was overwhelmed, shaken by the desire to reach over and tip Amy’s head up and kiss her.

It was a habit of easy affection she’d gotten into during their fake relationship, one that she hadn’t even noticed until after Amy’s confession, when she became so aware of the space between them and spent months second-guessing every touch. It was a habit she’d broken quickly, but there were still moments when it would hit her, sudden like sense memory, when Amy smiled or laughed or looked at her just right, when she felt this tug in her chest, this pull to touch, to find some way to get as close as possible.

She disentangled herself instead, putting some space between them, but squeezing Amy’s shoulder affectionately. “We’re going to be fine,” she said, waiting for Amy’s answering nod again before she rolled over on her back, watching the ceiling fan above them spin as she listened to Amy’s breath even out.

She didn’t go home for Christmas.

***  
She texted Amy from the airport, just _hey, I’m home_ , and Amy hasn’t responded. It isn’t a big deal. She’s driving in from Sherman tonight, and that four hour drive can easily turn into five or six, depending on what traffic is like when she hits Dallas. 

And Karma doesn’t expect an immediate response anyway. They go longer without talking these days. A couple of hours is nothing. Sometimes it’s days or weeks. It was a month one time, last January.

They already have dinner plans the next night. They’re fine. She puts her phone on silent and leaves it upstairs when she goes to have dinner with her parents, so she won’t spend all night waiting for it to ring.

***  
Karma and Liam lasted for years, but they never got over Liam and Amy sleeping together, not really. She forgave him completely, but the fallout lingered throughout their relationship, in trust issues she couldn’t shake, in the way he always deferred to her a little too easily, afraid of her anger, and in the way that she sometimes couldn’t get the image of what they must have looked like together out of her head. She could never quite untangle the threads of the way it made her feel.

Karma and Amy did get over Liam and Amy sleeping together, but they never totally got over _why_. They just stopped talking about it.

That maybe became more noticeable when they weren’t right in each other’s space.

They’re good, though. They talk regularly enough to know everything that’s going on in the other’s life. They talk about Karma’s job at the coffee shop where she does open mic and how Amy is playing with the idea of a gender studies major. They talk about Amy’s drawn-out break up with Reagan, and the string of blind dates Callie set Karma up on when she first got to New York. They talk about Amy’s new friends in her gender studies courses; they talk about Callie.

They get the highlights, but not the nuances, not the mundanities, and that’s what Karma misses. She knows the big stuff about Amy’s life, but she used to know _everything_ , and there’s this gap where that ambient awareness of Amy used to be. Karma doesn’t know where Amy is on any given Friday night; she doesn’t know what Amy’s dorm room looks like, or where she hangs out. Karma watches romcoms all the time now, when that was the genre Amy always vetoed for their movie nights. Karma eats peanut butter, because why shouldn’t she?

They haven’t even texted in nearly a week, and that’s normal; it’s what happens when you live across the country from each other. That’s how being an adult works. She gets it.

But she’s had a lot of threads of emotion to sort through, and nearly a year to do it. Leaving Amy was the hardest part of leaving Austin, wrenching in a way Karma had thought she was prepared for, and wasn’t. Even before she left, she started to feel the strain on their relationship, the effort it took from both of them, as they tried to untangle their lives. After, with the distance between them and some clarity and every phone conversation tinged with a bittersweet ache, well, it didn’t feel _un_ like a breakup.

Karma wasn’t as oblivious as she was when she 16. How could she be, after that? How could she ever miss anything about Amy ever again?

So she hadn’t missed it when Amy got over it, which had made it easier for Karma to ignore that she had anything to get over, until she couldn’t ignore it anymore.

***

Karma’s halfway through dinner with her parents when the doorbell rings. Amy throws her arms around Karma’s neck the second Karma opens the door, clinging tight, and Karma breathes her in. Her hair smells like sunshine, and Karma tries not to analyze that thought too closely before she pulls away, laughing.

“Did you even go home yet?”

Amy makes a face. “No, I drove straight here, and if I don’t go home for dinner, Mom’s gonna be mad. Apparently Lauren came home to see me.” Amy sounds suspicious; her relationship with Lauren is really good these days, but Amy remains eternally skeptical of Lauren’s motives for everything. From what Amy’s said, Lauren comes home less frequently than Amy does, despite being in town at UT Austin. “I had to see you, though,” Amy says, she’s playing with Karma’s hair where it curls against her shoulder; they’re standing really close and Karma feels warm all over. 

“I’m glad,” Karma says.

The moment seems to catch and drag, Amy just watching her, and then Molly’s calling “Amy!” from the kitchen, and Amy indulgently lets herself be dragged into an Ashcroft family group hug.

***  
Amy was mad Karma didn’t come home for Christmas. Karma told her over Skype, and framed it as her parents’ idea (true); since Zen was spending Christmas with his new girlfriend’s family, they felt their schedules were flexible enough to travel and they just really wanted to see the city over the holidays (true); they’d insisted and Karma really hadn’t had a choice (false).

Amy probably saw through that. Karma never really was able to lie to Amy unless she was also lying to herself. But she couldn’t do Austin right then. She still wasn’t even speaking to Liam then, and in New York they had completely different rhythms, friends, lives. The idea of Amy was overwhelming, and she was still dealing with that.

“I’m sorry,” Karma said.

“Yeah, no, I get it,” Amy said, already distant and fading.

“You should come see me,” Karma tried, but she didn’t completely mean it; she wasn’t ready for that collision of worlds.

“Yeah, okay,” Amy said, in a way that indicated she knew that too.

They didn’t speak until February, and when they did, they didn’t talk about it. They’d gotten good at that.

***

Amy is sprawled across Karma’s bed, staring at the ceiling and explaining in great detail the layout of her dorm room and what the acoustics do to her roommate’s snoring. She’s into it, talking with her hands, and Karma’s laughing into her pillow, just watching her. Amy’s hair is spilled out around her, bleached even blonder by actual exposure to the sun. Karma itches to thread her fingertips through it; she fights it for a second, but then gives in, and Amy leans easily into the touch, like it’s nothing, like it’s normal. Which it is, of course. They’ve always been easy with each other.

She’s tanner than Karma’s ever seen her. Because she plays sports now, apparently - softball, which just ended, and soccer in the fall. Karma’s still wrapping her head around the idea of Amy willingly participating in team _anything_. Amy’s always been more athletic than Karma, and played on city leagues when they were kids, but from about seventh grade on she’d been uninterested. She said she didn’t like the other kids, but she always seemed to like most of their classmates fine, in small groups and unstructured activities. She just didn’t like or want the attention that went along with being a student athlete, or the pressure from her mother to fit in and be part of something (sports weren’t ideal, but, “well, any port in a storm,” as Farrah said, unhelpfully, when she was trying to get Amy to try out for Hester High’s soccer team freshman year). 

Karma liked being part of things. Karma and Amy balanced each other. Karma drew Amy out, made her a little more playful, pushed her into new things. Amy made Karma stop and think, pulled her back from the ledge of her crazy ideas. Karma trusted Amy to do that; she wasn’t good at tempering herself, but then one time Amy didn’t, and that’s how sophomore year happened, and they never quite got back in synch. Karma didn’t trust herself not to push too hard, and she didn’t trust Amy to tell her if she was, and that was just hard. They’d always taken such good care of each other, and it was disconcerting to have that destabilized. 

So they were close, after everything; they recovered, but they were so careful of each other, relying on other people for some of the checks and balances they’d always only relied on each other for, before. Karma had Liam to call her on her shit. Shane stepped in to Amy's life, a whirlwind of questionable decision-making and that was good, because Amy was better at saying ‘no’ to him.

“I miss you,” Karma says, abruptly, shaken out of her wandering thoughts when Amy comes to a lull in her horror story about communal bathrooms. Amy rolls over, and the strands of her hair slip from between Karma’s fingers. She slides up the bed so that she’s lying next to Karma, sliding an arm around her waist and nearly sharing a pillow, the way they’ve always done. Karma catches her breath.

“I miss you too,” Amy says. She sighs and moves even closer. Her hair still smells like sunshine. “Walk me through an average day in New York. Start with what you have for breakfast.”

Karma laughs, as much at how they still think alike as at the request. “I had a 9 am class across campus last semester. You think I ate breakfast?” But she describes the roasted nuts she sometimes bought from the street vendors on her way to class, and the slow drag of 9 am Freshman Comp. Amy laughs when she’s supposed to, and they don’t stop touching.

***

Karma met Amy in daycare when they were two. Karma dressed up in the old Belle Halloween costume lying around the classroom and made Amy be the Beast, and - apparently - they were inseparable after that. That’s the story from her parents, anyway, but Karma doesn’t remember. Amy’s just always been there. 

They aren’t those friends like Shane and Liam, though, whose mothers were childhood friends and who became friends intially largely because of their parents. Karma and Amy are friends in spite of their parents, who never quite knew what to do with each other, Farrah always just a little bit worried about how lax she perceived Molly and Lucas to be; Molly and Lucas just a little bit worried about Karma spending that much time with the daughter of a Republican. (However, sweet and well-meaning Farrah was, of course. They always rushed to reassure Karma that Amy was _just delightful_ , and they had no doubt that Farrah meant well).

So Karma doesn’t remember meeting Amy, because there is no _before_ Amy. Amy’s a constant, as much of a given as her parents, or Zen.

She has this memory, though, of being in the daycare; they can’t have been more than two or three. She remembers the soft blue of the walls, the sheep painted across one of them. There was a thunderstorm, and she doesn’t remember much beyond the room being dark, the lightning flashing through the windows, and feeling helpless and afraid and like the storm would go on forever. Their caretakers must have been close by, of course, but what she remembers, mostly in impression and emotion, is having Amy, there with her, next to her in the playpen, cuddling up to her when she cried and making her feel a little calmer and a little safer, the way she always has.

***  
Karma relaxes into the easy rhythm of the Texas summer; she lets her parents talk her into taking shifts on the juice truck, and talks Amy into going with her. They go to the pool with Lauren and her college friends a few times, and Karma tags along to a few of the parties Shane drags Amy to, despite Shane vocally declaring himself “Team Liam,” while glaring in Karma’s direction. Karma and Liam are on an even keel now, though. They don’t spend much time together because Austin makes things between them just that little bit sharper, but they’re okay enough that group hangs are an option, and that Liam himself rolls his eyes whenever Shane talks says that, so Karma doesn’t let it get to her.

Shane’s convinced that what Amy needs is a “summer fling” to get “back on the horse” after Reagan. Amy mostly humors him, but doesn’t seem particularly interested in the girls Shane keeps pushing her toward. Karma asks, but Amy just shrugs and says they need to spend as much time together as they can, and she’ll have plenty of time for that next year. “I don’t see you looking for a summer boy,” she says. And Karma isn’t. There are plenty of those in New York. 

If that’s what she wants.

They spend nearly every day together, and it’s like it’s always been. Karma had assumed they’d be that cliche of friends, able to pick up exactly where they left off, no matter how much time had passed - how could they be anything else - but it’s nice to have that confirmed; it’s good to know they’re as indestructible as they are in the story she tells about them.

It’s shaping up to be a good summer.

So naturally that’s when Callie shows up. 

When she texts Karma asking for her address so that she can send her a “present.” Karma doesn’t really think to suspect that the present might _be_ Callie, though the second she answers the door, she knows she should have known. She knew, kind of abstractly, about Callie’s elaborate plan to road trip out to California to see her sister. She knew Callie was curious about Austin for the music scene; she knew Callie’s tendency to invite herself places. She just hadn’t totally connected the dots.

“Only you would show up completely unannounced,” Karma says. 

“Surprise?” Callie says, and drops her bag in the middle of Karma’s living room, holding out her arms for a hug. Karma sighs and lets Callie pull her in; her back is to Amy, who is sitting on the couch, watching them with interest. “It’s only a couple of days, or one day! Or however long you’ll have me?” She’s smiling her full-on, charm, _love me_ smile. 

Karma rolls her eyes. “Well, I’m not going to make you drive straight through to California.” Then Amy’s at her elbow holding out her hand for Callie to shake.

“You must be Callie. I’ve heard so much about you.” 

Callie goes in for a hug, leaving Amy looking kind of startled and making _help me_ eyes at Karma over Callie’s shoulder.

“And you must be Amy! I’ve heard everything about you!”

Amy mouths _everything?_ and Karma swallows.  
So this is going to be fun.

***  
On Lauren’s advice (mistake #1), they start on 6th Street. The club scene is more Callie’s scene than Karma’s or Amy’s. Amy got used to some clubs and raves with Reagan, but she doesn’t tend to like them without Reagan or Shane for backup. Karma always feels out of her element, wanting desperately to be more comfortable that she actually is. But Callie wants live music, and they’ve never been, so they figure they’ll try.

In the end, they veto the louder clubs for a quieter place down a side street. It has live music billed, and it lets them in underage, so they take it. The live music turns out to be one guy playing old school country. It’s not Karma’s genre, really, or Callie’s, who is more of a pop-punk person in her own work, but he’s good. Everyone’s good here.

Karma didn’t invite anyone else (mistake #2). She thought it would be easier with fewer people, but really it leaves her without a buffer, or any distraction from how she feels about the fact that Callie’s _love me_ smile is working just about as well on Amy as it ever has on any boy she’s seen Callie with.

Karma leans back in her chair and sinks into the music a bit, nursing her Coke and wishing for rum. Across from her, Callie and Amy are talking in low voices, Callie smiling that megawatt smile, Amy dropping her eyes and playing with her hair. Karma remembers Amy teasing her about how hot Callie was when they first looked at her Facebook. Callie _is_ hot.

When Callie gets up to go to the bathroom, Karma reached over and squeezes Amy’s wrist to make her lean over.

“She’s straight.” That’s mostly true. Probably.

“What?” Amy says, pulling away and looking a little stricken. “I wasn’t… we’re just talking. I’m not…”

“No, I know. I’m not accusing you of anything. Just...don’t?” 

Amy’s just watching her, like she’s not sure what Karma’s asking. Karma’s not totally sure what she’s asking either; it’s not like Amy and Callie _would_ , but there’s still enough baggage there to create a weird, charged moment, unclear and unsettled.

“Of course not,” Amy says. “I...I wouldn’t,” and they’re still staring at each other when Callie comes back to the table and breaks the moment.

***

Karma’s leaning up against the wall outside the bar with her head tipped back against the brick. She has her hair scooped off her neck with one hand and is fanning herself with the other. It’s cooled off a bit now that the sun has gone down, but it’s still the desert heat of a Texas summer.

“Where to next?” Amy asks.

“Yeah, are we going to meet your other friends?” Callie leans into Karma’s shoulder. 

“Shane and Liam were at some party earlier…” Amy starts. She’s sounds as hesitant as she’s been all summer about suggesting they hang out with Liam, but Karma knows she’s balancing that against wanting to spend time with Shane.

“Oh yes,” Callie says, “do I finally get to meet the mysterious Liam? Seems weird that it would be here, but I’m into it.”

“You haven’t met Liam?” Amy asks. She’s talking to Callie, but looking at Karma, and when Karma looks up and catches her eye, she looks confused and apologetic.

Karma shakes her head. “We weren’t talking until really recently, it just didn’t happen. In New York we just kind of...have our separate lives, you know?” She says to Callie, “You’ll meet him, I’m sure, but can we just not tonight?”

Amy nods. “Yeah, of course.”

Callie says, “Fine, but the night is young. Oh, Amy! Fun gay bars around? They’re best for dancing.”

Amy shakes her head. “I only know of a couple, and I don’t think think tonight is 18 and up. There’s a lesbian bar, but it’s quieter, so not really good for dancing. I figure that’s more my scene anyway.” She’s smiling, teasing, flirting a little still, but harmlessly and without intent. Callie flirts right back, of course, because she’s _Callie_ , and Karma sees it coming like a trainwreck.

“Oh, I like new things. And we both know Karma’s flexible,” Callie says, and winks at Amy.

Karma can _see_ the moment Amy gets it. Her eyes widen and her face goes tight and blank for just a moment before she recovers and she’s laughing again, but the damage is done. She laughs and says, “you know what guys, actually I’m really tired. It’s late. Can we catch up tomorrow? Lunch?” 

“Yeah, of course,” Karma says. Amy hugs them both, her arms briefly around Karma’s neck, her touch light and fleeting, before she’s hurrying down the street to hail a cab.  
Callie turns to her. “What just happened? I’m sorry.”

Karma shakes her head. “Nothing. It’s okay.” 

It’s not her fault. She didn’t _know_. Karma told her just enough to make her dangerous; she told her everything except the truth.

***  
It’s not really okay, of course. Karma lies awake in bed for about an hour, before she heads back out, sneaking past Callie asleep on the couch.

Amy’s sitting on her porch and she doesn’t look up as Karma approaches, though she leans into her when she sits down, knocking their shoulders together. Karma shivers at the closeness of her. She leans, taking Amy’s hand and twining their fingers together.

“Hey,” Amy says, “You couldn’t sleep either?”

Karma shakes her head. Amy turns to look at her. “So you and Callie,” she says. “Your roommate, well done. You’re having the experiences my mom thinks I’m having.” She’s smiling and the words are light, but there’s something tight in her voice. 

Karma nods sharply. The narrative she’s been weaving together for a year is unraveling at the seams. “Once, sort of. We were drunk. It didn’t mean anything.”

Amy stares at her and raises one eyebrow. “Oh. I know.” Karma sighs. Amy says, “Oh hey. I know. Look that was...not easy to hear. But I know you, I know it’s not…”

Karma cuts her off, “What does _that_ mean?” Amy drops her hand and Karma fiddles with the lace around the hem of her skirt, just to have something to do with her hands.

“Just that you’re…” She trails off and starts again. “You have to try things. You have to...have experiences. I know that. And while there was a time when that would have been something I wanted, it’s really, really better that it wasn’t me. That if you were going to...experiment...it wasn’t with me. It all could have been so much worse than it even was.” And that’s the closest they’ve come to talking about “it all” in nearly three years. “I was startled; I wish you’d told me, I guess, but I get why you didn’t.” She leans into Karma again, her weight a comforting pressure against Karma’s shoulder. “But I’m not mad. I don’t have any right to be.”

Karma’s head is spinning, her heart beating a quick staccato in her throat. Amy’s said her piece. They could leave it there and be _fine_ , except this has been coming, and there’s nothing to gain in pushing it down any more. 

“That’s not what I meant,” Karma says. Her voice comes out faint, but Amy turns sharply to look at her. “I mean, it was just, we were drunk, and Callie said she’d never kissed a girl, and it was experimentation, I guess, but also I wanted to know what it would feel like to kiss a girl who wasn’t you.”

“Karma,” Amy says, sounding worried, nervous, and Karma and can’t take the pressure building; the chemistry sparking between them, because oh, it always _did_.

“Hey,” Karma says, and kisses her, reaching up to slide one hand around the back of Amy’s neck and pull her in.

Amy freezes for a moment, and Karma feels the moment she gives in, shifting closer and opening up, threading her fingers through Karma’s hair. She kisses back, soft and sure, nothing frantic, but with a warmth that could build to heat that lights Karma up from the inside.

Amy pulls away and licks her lips, Karma follows the motion with her eyes.

“Woah,” Amy breathes out, there’s a hitch to her voice; she looks overwhelmed.

“I _know_ ,” Karma says, hearing the tremble in her own voice, and shutting her eyes against the look on Amy’s face.

“That’s not fair,” Amy says.

“I know,” Karma says. “I’m sorry.”

Amy’s looking at a spot somewhere over Karma’s shoulder when Karma opens her eyes again. “It took me so long to get over you.” And that Karma really didn’t know. They didn’t talk about it much after that day at the jail. They recovered; they moved forward; they weren’t the same again, but they were good. And they didn’t really talk about it. “So _long_ ,” Amy says now, the ache of what that must have been like in her voice.

“I…” Karma starts.

“I don’t even know…” Amy interrupts, biting her lip and looking away. “You should go.”

“ _Amy_ ,” Karma says.

“I need to _think_ ,” Amy says, her voice cracking a little on the last word. “Please, just for tonight.”

Karma does.

***

Callie startles, sitting up on the couch and fumbling for the light when Karma creeps through her darkened living room, banging her knee on the coffee table. She’s still unfamiliar with the new layout, all the rearranged shadows. Callie beckons to her, calling her over and moving aside so that Karma can sit down, pulling the blanket over them both.

“Were you at Amy’s?” Callie asks.

“Yeah.”

“You wouldn’t talk about it earlier. She didn’t know, did she?”

Karma shakes her head. “No.”

“I’m sorry,” Callie says, “I just figured she’d know. I thought…”

She trails off, but Karma knows exactly what Callie thought. She thought Karma would have told Amy, probably immediately. She thought exactly what Karma had wanted her to. What Karma had wanted everyone to.

Karma shrugs. “It’s okay. I should have told you.” 

Callie wraps one arm around Karma’s shoulders and tips their head’s together.

“Are you okay?” she asks. 

“I will be.”

“Is Amy?”

“We’ll figure it out.”

“Whatever was going on with you two, it’s still going on, isn’t it?

Karma has to laugh a little at that. “Yeah. Yeah, it really is.”

***

Callie heads out the next morning.

“So I’ve done enough damage,” she says, hugging Karma by her car.

“It wasn’t you,” Karma says, and it was, but it wasn’t. Callie was the catalyst, not the cause.

She sends one text to Amy, and then curls up under a blanket to stare at her phone. It’s all she can do not to send text after text with explanation, but she knows she needs to give Amy the space to respond.

Molly lets Amy upstairs without giving Karma any warning, so Karma’s lying on her bed going through old photo albums when Amy bursts into the room.

Karma scrambles to sit upright, knocking the photo album off the bed, and then they’re just staring at each other. There’s something a little frantic around Amy’s eyes.

“Did you mean it?” Amy asks.

“ _Yes_ ,” Karma says. 

Amy sags, the fight going out of her, and moves to sit on the bed, Karma moving over quickly to give her space, as much as she needs.

Amy’s looking down at her hands. “Good. Because it took me so long to get over you, and then you pretty much undid all of that with one kiss, so. I didn’t know what I was going to do if the answer was ‘no.’”

Karma swallows. “What do you mean?”

Amy shrugs, still not really looking at Karma. “I haven’t spent these years pining. We were just best friends and that was _fine_. Yesterday I wouldn’t have said I was in love with you, except for there’s this part of me that’s always going to be in love with you, a little bit. I don’t think it would take the rest of me much to get back there.” The last bit is said in a whisper.

“Hey look at me.” When Amy looks up, Karma says, “I meant it. I think _I’ve_ been pining for about a year.”

“Why? You were so adamant in high school. You didn’t want me.”

Karma nods, trying to piece it together in a way Amy will understand. “I think I did? On some level, even then, I did. When we kissed back then, I felt...I don’t know if it was what you felt. You were so sure, so maybe not, but it was something more than I knew what to do with. Wanting to fake date you was...I couldn’t have done that with anyone else. I couldn’t have faked it that convincingly because some of those feelings were real. I _liked_ kissing you. I _liked_ being near you like that. I wanted to touch you all the time. But I didn’t know.”

Amy’s just staring at her, barely breathing, and Karma tells the truth. She owes them both that, however much it’ll sting.

She says, “I was so into Liam I couldn't see anything else.” And that had been so true back then. Everything with Liam had been so startling and electric, so all-consuming and so precarious, that she hadn’t noticed anything else. “I loved him,” she acknowledges. She’d loved him to distraction, and they both know it. “I loved you too, though; I’d just loved you longer.” She pauses, looking up to study Amy’s face, and says more quietly, “I didn’t think anything had changed in how I felt about you, because nothing had.”

“Wow,” Amy says.

“Yeah.”

“And Callie?” Amy asks.

“I’m bi, I guess,” Karma says, and there’s that, for the first time ever. It’s good that it was said to Amy, she thinks. “I was curious what it would be like, we both were, and it was fun, but I told you, it wasn’t… it wasn’t what I felt - what I feel - about you.”

Amy nods. “Okay.” Barely more than a whisper.

“Okay?” Karma says.

Amy shrugs helplessly and her eyes are wet, but she’s smiling bright and genuine. “Okay. You and me, right? Until we’re old and gray in our rockers on our front porches. Or our front porch. You and me, no matter what.”

They’re indestructible. That’s the story, and Karma’s truth. So yes, no matter what. They’re not just this, but they’re this too. Or they can be.

“No matter what,” Karma says.

“Okay. Then kiss me again.”

Karma does.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [ I'm Not Over](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ijSg4NkOIeY) by Carolina Liar.


End file.
